Breathless
by PerfectingSilence
Summary: John Watson was not unfamiliar to the feeling of being out of breath. Rather, he was quite accustom to it, now more than ever. After all, he did share a flat with the brilliant Sherlock Holmes. And if John had to describe the mastermind of deductions using one word, that word would most certainly be "breathtaking". Johnlock
1. Breathless

_**Title: Breathless**_

_**Rating: T**_

_**Pairing: Johnlock**_

_**Description: John Watson was not unfamiliar to the feeling of being out of breath. Rather, he was quite accustom to it, now more than ever. After all, he**_** did**_** share a flat with the brilliant Sherlock Holmes. And if John had to describe the mastermind of deductions using one word, that word would most certainly be "breathtaking". Johnlock**_

_**Disclaimer: The characters do not belong to me, but rather, to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and BBC. I'm in no way affiliated with the show and am not making a profit off this story. Written for entertainment purposes only.**_

_**_**Prompt: "Quick, over here!" said the detective as he/she stopped suddenly.**_**_

_**A/N: This was originally written for my English class. The teacher sometimes puts prompts onto the board and when we walk in, we must write a story using the exact sentence she chooses. I wrote this and then was called on to read it aloud. Everyone seemed to enjoy it, though I doubt they understood any of the references. Anyways, this is my first Sherlock fanfic and I'm rather excited about it.**_

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**Breathless**

**Introduction**

John Watson was not unfamiliar to the feeling of being out of breath. Rather, he was quite accustom to it, now more than ever. Really, you'd think he'd eventually grow used to the excessive amount of running he did on a daily basis, and yet, so far, it'd only made a minimal difference in his lung capacity. Granted, only six months had passed since he'd met the great Sherlock Holmes and he still had plenty of time to grow used to the current state of his life. Nonetheless, it'd be nice to see some progress sometime soon.

"Quick, over here!" said the detective as he stopped suddenly. John took a brief second to intake a gulp of cool air before once again taking off after his companion. They were far from their apartment, and Dr. Watson in all honesty had no clue where they were. Then again, that didn't matter much. Sherlock had the streets of London memorized and obviously knew exactly what he was doing. As always.

Earlier in the day, he'd made a plethora of complicated deductions regarding the case, as per usual. It hadn't taken long to place a name to the murderer. Really, the most challenging part had been tracking the man down, but John doubted that had been anything but a piece of cake for the world's only Consulting Detective.

The two raced down the street, trying to catch up with the criminal. It reminded John of their first case together. Back when he'd chased after the mess of dark curls and Belstaff coats and brilliant thoughts for the first time. Sherlock, being tall and slender, ran faster than John, but not by too much. With the self-assumed sociopath around him, John's limp went away. Sherlock, of course, had been right; it was psychosomatic, all in his head, just another leftover memory from the war.

He had the tendency to forget about the unimportant things as he ran after his detective. It almost brought to mind the way the taller man cleared out what he considered to be "useless" information from his memory. Knowing Sherlock would need his blogger by his side, John picked up the pace, adrenaline pumping through his veins and a danger craving glint in his more-alive-than-ever-before blue eyes.

_**Thanks for reading! If things work out as planned, more chapters will be posted soon. **_


	2. Exhausted-Part One

_**A/N: Hey guys! I've not got much to say this time, just a couple things about the chapter. It's short, barely longer than the first one, and I do have a reason for that. As you'll see, I started a bit of a story arc here, and I'd actually originally planned to include the entire arc in this chapter. Obviously that didn't happen. I'm starting school again Tuesday, and tomorrow is going to be preparing for that, so I won't have time to write. I wanted to get something out to you before school started, and thus, this short, little thing. Hope you like it. Read, Review, and Enjoy!~**_

John Watson was also rather familiar to the feeling of being completely and utterly exhausted. Cases with Sherlock often clashed with his sleep schedule, and even when they didn't, more times than not, once the exhilarating feeling of adrenaline and accomplishment wore off, all he wanted was a good night's rest. Thankfully, he had yet to reach that point in the evening, and didn't expect to for a little while longer.

Of course, he'd been sleeping more poorly than usual the past few days, and combining that fact with the exertion of both his job at the surgery and his job helping Sherlock, John had a feeling when he did eventually crash, he would crash hard. This, he was by no means looking forward to. Somewhat dreaded it, in fact.

So, when the men entered the flat they shared, he pushed those thoughts out of his mind, instead choosing to focus on the present rather than the future. The two hung their coats and as Sherlock walked across the sitting room to the couch, John put the kettle on. The water began to warm and he filled the time it would take to boil by going up to his room to change into more comfortable attire.

On the couch, Sherlock was sprawled out, basking in the glow of a well solved case. To the man's pleasure, it had been a double homicide. Surely, it would keep the detective satisfied for a while before he began bugging Lestrade for another case or shooting any of their walls. It was at this point he was content with just laying on the couch, though he would most likely spend the night filing the information away in his mind palace, and possible then reorganizing the thing instead of sleeping.

When the kettle begins to screech, John deals with it accordingly,, bringing Sherlock his cuppa when it's done and setting it on the table. He doesn't get a thanks, but doesn't mind, because he wasn't expecting one. Never does.

Sitting down in the chair that has long been claimed as his, Watson clicks on the telly and takes a long gulp of the steaming brew. The hot liquid burns his throat, not that he cares much. He takes pity on his throat anyways, and blows cool air into the mug before taking another sip.

The night was going swimmingly well, John decided, as he glanced over at his flatmate's peaceful form. Of course, as many things since the beginning of his life with Sherlock tended to go, the night's calm state would soon undoubtedly fall apart.

-Line-

A firm (and cautious?) knock signalled them to Lestrade's presence. It was John who got the door, and though it was rude to think, he almost wished he'd ignored it. Granted, that quickly changed when he noticed the expression the man was sporting; complete anxiety and urgentness.

"Greg?" He knew his tone would be enough to convey the unspoken, 'What's gone wrong?'

"John. Sorry I'm stopping by so unannounced, but I couldn't risk the two of you ignoring your phones."

By this point, Sherlock was already up and grabbing his coat, so naturally, John went to grab his, as well, and put it on while crossing the room to get his mobile.

"How long?" Sherlock asked simply.

"Three hours," was Lestrade's response, and suddenly it made sense to John. The realization dawned on him as the three walked out the door; it was a timed case.

He couldn't help but think about the last series of timed cases they had solved, back before they had properly met Jim Moriarty. The ones that ultimately led to his official introduction, in fact. His mind flashed to a darkened pool without his consent, and his brain supplied the weight of an explosive vest strapped to his chest. A subtle adjustment of his coat cleared his head, and with it, the slight feeling of panic that had started to accumulate.

"Do you think it's Moriarty again?" No doubt Sherlock had noticed and deduced him, but he didn't mention what they both knew had happened just then.

"That would be the most logical assumption, it seems," he said instead.

"But?" John knew he probably sounded stupid, but when didn't he sound stupid standing next to Sherlock Holmes?

"To answer your original question, no, I don't believe this is the work of Moriarty."

That was enough to simultaneously relieve John and worry him. Would they be able to go up against two of the world's most advanced criminals (if that's what this new person turned out to be), when they were barely able to deal with one? It was more certainly enough to shut him up for the remainder of the ride.


End file.
